Listen
by Aalon
Summary: Set in the AU created by A Different Road Taken, this is a one shot conversation between Richard Castle and Kate Beckett on the balcony, leading into the weekend. This story occurs two weeks after the end of Out of the Forest and Into the Woods. Story occurs mid-Season 4 AU timeframe.


**Listen**

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.

**A/N:** If you have not read A Different Road Taken and Out of the Forest and Into the Woods yet, please do so before reading this story. This is the third story in that AU, and this is a one-shot for Easter that brings about a long overdue conversation between Castle and Kate Beckett. This takes place almost two full weeks after the end of Out of the Forest and Into the Woods.

_**Richard Castle's Residence in Sausalito, California, Friday, Jan 27, 2012, 5:30 p.m. PST **_

"Do you hear that?" Kate Beckett asks him, as they sit alone on the circular stone balcony that surrounds the back end of Richard Castle's home in Sausalito. From their vantage point, they can see Alcatraz Island, overlooking the bay waters flowing into San Francisco from the Pacific Ocean. It's a majestic view, one that Castle hasn't gotten used to yet, and he hopes he never does. Every now and then, yeah, he misses New York City, the noise, the chatter, the livelihood. But then he sits out here, and – as Kate has just noticed – listens.

"Hear what?" he asks, although he knows the answer already.

"Nothing," she smiles. "I hear nothing at all. No traffic, no noise – maybe just the occasional wind," she says, still smiling. She sits next to him on the large patio swing. Their motion adds to the effect of the wine she drinks and the Malibu on the rocks he is throwing down. The weekend is just beginning and it's been a good week.

"This is nice," she says softly, her feet dangling out, occasionally reaching over to touch his. She wears blue jeans and a soft tan cowl neck sweater. Her long locks hang below her shoulder, as her head rests on his shoulder.

"Yeah, it is," he replies. "I like this."

"Me, too," Kate agrees, chuckling.

He just smiles, sensing an overdue conversation is coming. He is comfortable with this, knowing that now isn't just 'as good a time as any'. No, now is actually a very good time for them to talk. There hasn't been a new arrival at the Castles Complex for a week now. So far, that's a record for their young project. And yes, it is now officially 'their' project. Castle has been gracious in expanding this thing of his to include Kate completely, and Kate has been very proactive and selfless about wanting to be a part of it.

Things are good. Of the 85 or so inhabitants, only a handful haven't yet fully acclimated, and they just need a little more time. Time is something they have plenty of.

A few more minutes of quiet pass before she speaks again.

"Are we okay?" she asks, her head still resting on his shoulders.

"Why do you ask?" he questions back, smirking. He knows this will get a little rise from her. He is not disappointed.

"Why didn't you just answer the question?" she asks, and he can feel her smile under his chin. They laugh at their nervousness. Both know what is coming is necessary. He lets another few seconds pass before responding.

"Look Kate," he begins. "We are going to be good after this – this little talk I sense is right on the tips of our tongues. We will be fine. Better than fine."

"It's just been so wonderful," she replies softly. "I don't want to blow this, Castle."

"Kate, we will blow this by _not_ having this discussion – by sweeping things under the rug."

"We're good at that," she agrees, opting for levity.

"Correction," he counters. "We _were_ good at that. But no more. That didn't get us anywhere."

"So, where do we start?" she asks.

"As Samantha would say – we start at the beginning," he offers, and both chuckle. Dr. Samantha Peraza has been good for both of them.

"Ground rules?" she asks, still resting on his shoulder. He thinks for a few seconds before answering.

"Unlimited mulligans," he says.

"Excuse me?" she asks.

"C'mon, Kate. You play golf. Unlimited do-overs. If one of us says something that doesn't come out the way we intended – and God knows that is likely to happen – then we get a do-over. No questions asked, nothing held against the other."

"Nice. I like it," she says, smiling.

"Don't bring your mother into this," he says softly. He waits for a reaction – and is pleasantly surprised to find none.

"Agreed," she says. "And no Alexis."

"Agreed," he replies. "Smart. Take the two people we both know are most important to us out of this equation for now.

She smiles, and he can feel it as her smile lifts her head slightly. "Tom Shaw told me . . . oh about a month ago, that nothing changes with us – from my end – until I put you first."

"Tom is a brilliant man," Castle laughs, and she laughs with him. Both are surprised at how easy things have become. This conversation this evening – leading into the weekend – is about making sure this is groundwork, and not just leaves rustling on the ground.

"Samantha had a similar conversation with me," Castle admits.

"So," she begins, and then quickly pauses. She lifts her head, pushing his chin backward. He lowers his head to look at her and is met with soft lips, just a short peck.

"I love you," she says, her eyes never closing through the short kiss.

"I love you," he replies, and then places a second equally short peck on her lips. It's enough. She lowers her head again, onto his shoulder.

"So, the beginning," she says, drawing a deep breath, and thankful she can begin without looking him in the eyes just yet. "I drove you away. To the other side of the country. I lied. You told me you loved me, and I . . . I ignored it."

"Why?" he asks.

"You know, Rick," she begins, "and I mean this with all seriousness, I honestly have no fucking idea anymore."

His laughter is loud and long, and she joins in. He takes a long drag on the glass of Malibu while she takes a smaller sip of the Moscato in her hands.

"I'm serious, Castle," she continues. "I have concocted so many excuses in the last year – I wasn't ready, I didn't know what to do, I needed to get away, I needed to find myself, I wanted to somehow protect you, I . . . I . . . I have created so many excuses over the past year that I honestly, honestly don't remember why I lied in the first place. All I know is that it was a stupid, horrible thing to do, and I am so sorry, Castle. I am so sorry."

For now, the writer-turned-philanthropist accepts her response, in large part, because this is precisely how Dr. Samantha Peraza warned him she would respond.

"_And she won't be lying to you, Rick,"_ Samantha had told him. _"You can let a lie sit out there so long, it grows its own roots, it grows a life of its own. The original reason, the original cause for the lie will be buried so deep in the ground, it will take a lot of digging to get to. But dig gently, Rick. Use a small flower spade, not a fence hole digger. Go slowly."_

"Did you love me back then?" he asks.

She pauses, and he knows the answer. When she responds, he smiles, content that she has not fallen into another lie just to appease his heart or ego or whatever.

"No," she admits. "I liked you, Rick, I liked you an awful lot. I knew something was there, something that I should nurture. But I was with Josh then, and well . . . well, hell that's a whole 'nother matter isn't it? I should never have been with Josh in the first place."

"Why not?" Castle asks.

"Because I didn't love him."

"Well," he counters, thinking his thoughts through carefully. "You don't date someone because you already love them, Kate. You date them to have a good time, to learn more about them, and to maybe fall in love."

She considers his words for a moment.

"Fair enough," she gives him. "Still, I was with Josh long enough to know he wasn't the one. I wasn't in love with him. I was comfortable with him. And it . . ."

"It what, Kate?" he asks. He is trying to – as Samantha had cautioned – dig shallowly, dig slowly.

"It helped me avoid dealing with you, Castle," she says, and she rises up again, drawing even with him now, eyes boring deeply into his.

"Dealing with you meant changing, Castle. I knew that. It meant readjusting, it mean reprioritizing – and I just wasn't ready to do that yet. I know that sounds selfish and I admit it was. But that's the truth. Today is about truth, right?" she asks, searching for confirmation.

"Absolutely, Kate," he tells her, smiling. "No matter how harsh it sounds, today, tonight is all about honesty."

His words bring a smile to her face, and give her the fuel to continue. She is grateful for his simple acceptance right now.

"Having Josh was easy. Nothing changed. Nothing. I didn't have to adjust, I didn't have to re-arrange or re-prioritize. He was a nice guy – he really was for a while, Castle," she continues, noting the quick displeasure that passes along his face. It's gone in a flash, but she notes it.

"He was a nice guy, and I needed a nice guy then. I wasn't in love with you, but I was starting to fall for you. And I was fighting it every step of the way."

"Oh you don't have to tell me," he gives her, and then glances away, his eyes searching for and finding Angel Island, just to the left of Alcatraz. She, in turn, rests her head back on his shoulder, smiling when his arm finds her and pulls her closer.

"But Josh started becoming a problem," she says softly.

"How so?" he wonders aloud.

"Because in those last weeks with Josh? I was with Josh, but thinking about you."

That gets him. She feels him tense up, and then soften. Today is about truth, and the truth often has its own little surprises. For Richard Castle, this is one of them.

"Dinners with Josh were dinners with you. Phone calls with Josh were phone calls with you. Making love . . ." she pauses, as she feels him pull away, and she glances up, finding his widening eyes, and continues.

"Making love with Josh – I saw your face, I imagined your lips, I tried – Oh God Castle, I tried so hard to hear your voice."

She stares at him for a few seconds, trying to gauge the man staring at her.

"That is so cool," he finally gives her, with his trademark smirk.

'And you wonder why I lied," she smirks in response, punching his shoulder and shaking her head. "You and that massive ego," she smiles.

"C'mon Beckett, you have to admit –"

"Do you want me to finish or not, Don Juan," she says testily, though smiling.

He takes his fingers and simulates a zipping motion across his lips. Satisfied, Kate continues, still shaking her head.

"So I didn't love you, but I felt more for you than I did the man I was sleeping with. Do you know how strange that is, how confusing that can be?"

"Indeed, former detective. I know exactly how that feels."

"How so?" she asks.

"Summer, 2010," he begins. "I'm in the Hamptons with Gina, seeing your face. I'm walking in the sand with Gina, feeling your hand in mine. I'm in bed with Gina, trying to ignore the blond locks of hair and trying to imagine your brunette locks. Making love with her was always an eyes-closed affair, because with my eyes closed, it could be you. It could have been you. And I did all of this knowing that you were with another man."

His voice trails off, and she can only stare at him, her jaw slightly dropped, and eyes widened in surprise.

"In the past four years, Kate, you've been a flight attendant, a model, an ex-wife . . . every dalliance, every tryst, every - single – time. Yeah, I know how unfair that is to another person, Kate. First hand, I know."

"Wow," is all she can say.

"Yeah," he gives her in return.

He takes another drag on his drink, and then stands up.

"Refill?" he offers?

"Yes, please," she answers, and stands up herself, but he places his hand on her shoulder.

"Stay here, babe. Enjoy the breeze, enjoy the view. Be right back."

He walks into the house, heading straight for the kitchen. The marble stone floor is cold to the touch on his feet, and his thoughts are still out on the patio – with the woman who is rapidly becoming more than just the love of his life. There is a pep to his step as he is excited about their conversation. For the past month, since Kate Beckett came to San Francisco, theirs has been a wonderful, blissful walk of ignorance. Not ignorance in the 'not aware' category. No, this has been ignorance in the 'we agree to ignore the elephant in the room' category. It could only go on so long before their relationship demanded this discussion. And it is going well, so far.

He refills Kate's glass with Moscato, and throws a couple of cubes of ice into his tumbler before adding the Malibu coconut rum he has grown accustomed to since moving out here to California. As he walks to the balcony door, he passes the audio visual connection in the wall and stops. He takes out his phone, dials up the Beach Boys playlist, and inserts his iPhone into the wall slot, and into the jack. When he opens the door to rejoin Kate on the balcony, she is giving him that odd smirk of hers that he has grown to really, really enjoy.

"Really, Castle?" she says, smiling as he starts singing along, walking toward the patio swing.

"_Well East coast girls are hip, I really dig those styles they wear,"_ he sings, smiling.

"_And the Southern girls, with the way they talk, they knock you out when you're down there,"_ Kate adds, personalizing the lyrics, to Castle's delight. The song continues to play as Castle sits down next to Kate, handing her the refilled glass. This time he sits more on the edge, leaning forward, while she sits back, her feet now gathered underneath her hips. She waits for him to return to her, as he gazes out toward the water.

A minute later, he sighs and pushes himself back, fully into the swing, his back resting against the rear once again. She instinctively snuggles in, again finding her place under his shoulder as he lifts an arm, granting her access. After a few more seconds, she begins talking again. The conversation picks again – easily, comfortably.

"You know what I was just thinking about?" he asks her, knowing she has no idea.

"A month ago, I've just landed, and we are driving through the city singing Journey," she offers, and she chuckles as she feels him tense once more. She knows it is a good thing.

"You could not have possibly known that!" he exclaims, leaning away from her. "How in the world –"

"Déjà vu, Castle," she smiles, giving him nothing more. "Déjà vu."

"That's all I get?"

"That's all you get," she confirms. "Now come back to me."

He chuckles, relaxing and returning to their former position, pulling her into him, his arm resting atop her shoulders.

"When did you know that you loved me, Castle?" she asks, suddenly. He knows they are continuing their discussion now.

"In the freezer," is all he says. There is no hesitation to her response.

"That's when I think I knew, too. I didn't admit it was love. Maybe it wasn't. I mean, if it was love then, and I could still treat you the way I did . . . well, it wasn't love yet. But I knew it was something a lot more than just "can't wait to see Castle at work tomorrow morning."

"Is it bad that I used to wish for a body to drop?" he asks, already knowing the answer. "Never mind, don't answer that."

She pauses for a moment again before continuing.

"What worries me, Castle, isn't that I lied to you," she tells him. He's not sure what to make of the statement. Lies aren't good. It should bother her.

"_Let her continue," _he tells himself._ "She's going somewhere with this. Let her finish."_

"And it's not so much that I left for three months, pushing you away, pushing everyone away," she continues, and now he is really confused. This is progress?

"I know what you're thinking," she continues. "Hear me out. What worries me isn't that I did those things a year ago. What worries me is that I did those things when Mom died, too. I know, I know what we agreed, but give me a minute. When Mom died, I ran from Stanford, and I shut people out. When I got shot, I ran from you and everyone else, and shut all of you out. And I lied on top of it all."

Her arms, which up to this point have been folded, now reach around and hold on tightly to Castle, as she burrows deeper. She wants to make sure he doesn't run right now – as she would – as she would have. The thought that she is worried about such a thing causes him to mentally shake his head. He tightens his arm around her just enough to let her know what a ridiculous thought it is. It works, as she picks up once more.

"What worries me," she continues, "is that maybe that's just who I am, Rick. When something really major happens, when my demons show up, I run. I shut people out. Get too close? I'll lie. I'm worried that's who I am. And if that's who I am . . ."

"Then what happens the next time something major crops up," he finishes her sentence for her. He feels her nodding her head underneath his chin. Okay, so this is good. This is really good. She's getting to the crux of the issue. Samantha said she would, if he would just shut up and stop pushing and let her get there. He smiles, knowing that he owes his dear friend a lot of thanks right now.

"Well Kate," he begins, "considering that I confronted my demon by running clear to the other ocean, I can't fault you much."

They both are quiet for a moment, considering their current state.

"This isn't a very pretty picture we are painting, you know?" she comments. "It's not over. Somewhere along the line, who knows when, we will face something again. And if we don't change something . . ."

"I know, Kate. That's why this little chat is so important. Not for the past. We can't do anything about that. No, this is for the future."

He feels her nodding her head, giving him the okay to continue. She unwraps her legs and feet from underneath her, allowing them to dangle next to his once more.

"Rick, this isn't like riding a bicycle. We're talking about _change_. We're talking about doing the one thing that most human beings resist at all cost. And me? Hell, I'm the four-star general of that army," she chuckles with frustration.

"It's not about wholesale changes, Kate," he tells her softly. "It's about subtle changes – little ones here and there. You're right. It's not like riding a bicycle. It's more like flying a plane."

"Really?" she smiles. "I can't wait to hear this one."

"Think about it. You don't overfly. You make small corrections. You don't yank the stick one way or the other. Small, subtle, tiny corrections." He runs his hands atop her head, allowing a finger to twirl inside a lock of hair.

"I think our problem – at least mine and I think yours as well – is that we always opted to overfly – to make these huge changes. Something happens, we don't step back and think. We just react. We go for the nuclear option," he chuckles.

"Not funny," she says softly.

"Oh, but it is, former detective," he smiles. "You shut me out for three months. Three – long – months. But before that, I go to the Hamptons for the entire summer, without calling you once. You don't want to face the fact that I loved you, so you lied about ever even hearing what I said. I don't want to face the possibility of you dying, so I consider making a deal for life –"

"But you didn't," she counters. "You thought about it and then decided to have Smith call me directly. You didn't keep anything from –"

"I didn't make the deal because I was on the other side of the country, Kate," he confesses. "How in the hell am I going to keep you safe from all the way here. No, if I were in still back in New York when Smith called, I would have made the deal. I know I would have. And I wouldn't have said a word to you about it."

She considers his words, his honesty, and simply sighs.

"You and I are sitting in a freezer, dying. We get out and you spend the evening with Josh. Not me. I run to flight attendants, to Meredith, to Gina," he scoffs in frustration. "You and I don't do subtle, Kate. We don't do little corrections. We blow the whole thing up."

"Why haven't you said anything before, Rick?" she asks, truly curious. "I mean, I've been here for what – a whole month, and you haven't said anything until now."

"Because – and hear me out because this may not come out right the first time-"

"Asking for a mulligan already?" she asks, laughing softly.

"Maybe," he smiles back. "I didn't say anything, I didn't bring all this up because I wanted to try this, Kate. I wanted to test drive things, so to speak."

"Excuse me? You wanted to _test drive_ me?" she asks, incredulously. "What am I, your latest sports car?"

He pulls back, suddenly, immediately regretting his choice of words.

"Mulligan! Mulligan!" he shouts, looking for her eyes, when he sees the broad smile on her face and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

"Not cool, private investigator," he smiles. "That could get you a punch in the arm."

"I'd call Mike Monroe and he'd kick your ass, Castle," she laughs, and he joins in with her.

"I'm sure he would," Castle muses. "He's grown fond of you. Let me try this again," he says, ignoring the banter now. "I wanted to test drive _this_ – _us_. Before letting this get too serious, I wanted to test this. I know that sounds harsh, but hear me out."

"I thought this _was_ serious," Kate says, a bit confused. "For me, this is-"

"_Serious_ is a ring on your finger, Kate. _Serious_ is putting this house in your name as well as mine. _Serious_ is joint bank accounts. _Serious_ is –"

"I get it, I get it," she says softly, nodding in agreement. Yeah this has been sweet, it has been nice. For the last month it has been beautiful, wonderful, and she is so content. But he's right. It hasn't been serious – not by his definitions, which she has to admit, make a lot of sense.

"Like I said, I know this sounds harsh. But like I said, hear me out, Kate," he says, and this time, he pulls away and stands up. He walks a few steps to the rail around the stone balcony, staring ahead before turning to face Kate, who remains seated.

"I chased you for four years. For four years I stuck around, pushed you, let you bat me away. I took your jabs, your put downs, your innuendo. And I was captivated by all of it," he tells her. He isn't angry or disappointed, but there is something in his eyes. It's an emotion that she can't place in Richard Castle, and for a moment, she is worried about this conversation.

"In four years, Kate, you started to grow larger than life to me. And when I left New York, when I was on the plane flying out here to San Francisco, leaving New York, I kind of broke down on the plane," he tells her.

Just the thought of Richard Castle emotionally breaking down – over her – is too much, and the tears flood her eyes before she realizes it.

"I was wondering how I was going to live without you," he continues, undaunted by the emotions playing out in front of him. "I was wondering if I had done the right thing. See, once again, there was no small correction. Once again, one of us was running – sprinting away – shutting the other out. But then it hit me."

He pauses, taking a quick sip of Malibu, and letting the smooth drink lowly fall down the back of his throat. He clears his throat, and continues.

"Then it hit me," he repeats. "I realized that I wasn't worried about missing you, or you and I. No, I was worried about missing what I _thought_ you and I could be, not what we _were_. Not who _you_ were. I was living a mirage, Kate. I was worried about missing an illusion. I woke up day after day – for four years – hoping for something, and somewhere during those four years, my mind started to believe we were _already there_. That you felt for me the way I felt for you. And so when you would say things that proved otherwise, I would get frustrated, wondering why you were backing away, wondering why you were pulling away . . . when in fact, you _weren't_ backing away . . . you had never committed in the first place! But in the mirage that I had created, you and I were committed."

She takes all of this in, without a word. Occasionally a tear makes its way down her cheek, to be quickly brushed away. She pulls her feet back underneath her hips – almost protectively – as she sips on her drink.

"So I didn't want to make this last month all serious, with us trying to figure out what we do, or to address your lie, or anything like that," he continues. "I just wanted to see if there was really, _really_ anything here – if we really _had_ something . . . if we could _be_ something . . . or if it was really just still a mirage in my mind. I wanted to see if you and I could be more than the illusion I had created."

He takes a long pull on the tumbler now, having said what he has wanted to say for months. It's out there in the universe now, and he can't pull it back.

"So that's why I haven't pushed this conversation until now," he concludes. "But what about you? Why didn't you bring any of this up?

"Hell, Castle," she begins between sniffles, and a soft chuckle. "I just didn't know where to start. And a part of me just hoped we were kind of doing a control alt delete, you know? Just resetting the computer, starting from scratch."

They both laugh at this, knowing that's exactly how they would have handled things, without this conversation. Kate, for her part, sees the folly in this.

"The problem is, you end up resetting every week, every month. Every time something goes wrong, you just hit reset. Nothing gets resolved," she tells him, and now she stands, joining him along the railing, standing next to him. He still faces the swing set along the house wall, while she faces outward toward the water in the distance.

"You're right," he agrees. "If we don't own up to this, if we don't learn from this, then we are doomed to repeat it, to go down this road again."

"Paraphrasing Winston Churchill, Castle?" she kids him. "Not the most original thought from a world renown author," she smiles.

"Winston Churchill never fell in love with Kate Beckett."

Kate turns to him now, her hand searching for the comfort of his. Finding it, she draws a step closer, gaining strength, as she begins.

"You were never at the top of my priorities," she admits. "I know that sounds worse than I wish, but Samantha helped me come to grips with that. Tom Shaw, believe it or not, helped me embrace this. It was hard, but I realized that you were important to me – really important – just not as important as . . . other things, which I am embarrassed to admit."

Nothing she is telling him is news to him. None of this is surprising – the only surprise is her free admission. It strikes him how far they truly have come in the past month.

"They helped me realize that I really was losing the thing, the person, that was most important all along," she continues. "I just didn't realize it. When you left, Rick, it threw me for a loop. This wasn't the Hamptons that you ran away to. And worse, you didn't run away with an ex-wife, off on a little jaunt that I knew would be temporary. You just left. Picked up and started all over. You didn't have anyone waiting for you, and that scared me more than anything else. Because I realized you really were serious, you really were wiping your hands of everything. You were wiping your hands of me."

She falls easily into his chest, and feels his arms tighten around her. Her voice is strong, and the tears are gone. She is glad, too, because this isn't an emotional confession she is offering him. This is far more than that.

"I realized that I had to change," she says, her mouth speaking into his neck. "But I don't know how to change. I realized I had to learn from my screw up, because if I didn't, I'd never get you back. I just didn't know how to do it. So, you know what? I spent every Saturday you were gone with your mother at brunch."

He knows this. Martha had told him of their weekly get-togethers, wondering if it would bring her son out to New York for a surprise visit, just to see how things were going, to see how things were changing with the woman she knew he still loved.

"Every single Saturday," Kate continues, "without fail. Even when I had a case, I found time for Martha. Just to feel connected to you, just to get a little encouragement that I would get another shot, that we'd get another chance. I didn't want to blow that. I didn't want to repeat history."

"Oh, so it's okay for you to quote Sir Winston now?" he kids her, laughing softly.

"I can fall back on historical clichés. I'm not the best-selling novelist."

"Touché," he gives her with a smile.

He turns – and turns her with him – so that they both are facing out toward the bay. He glances at his watch.

"Hmmm," is all he says.

"What time?"

"6:40" he says.

"What time is the reservation?" she asks.

"7:30" he tells her, his eyes not moving from the horizon.

"You mind if we stay in," she asks, and she can tell from the slight change in his face – almost imperceptible, that this is something he would very much like.

"Love to," he tells her. "I kind of like where we are right now, right here. We don't have to talk any more tonight. We've made a lot of progress."

"A lot," she agrees. "Far less painful than I imagined."

"Yeah, me too," he smiles. "We have plenty of time. I can grill some fish."

"I'm glad we talked," she tells him, her head falling to his shoulder now, as they stand shoulder to shoulder along the balcony. "It's . . . it's a weight off of me that I didn't realize was still there, Castle."

"Yeah, good description," he agrees. "Love you, babe."

"Love you, too," she says, with a soft kiss to his cheek as she stands on tip toes for a brief instant.

"Now would be the time for an end of scene shooting star across the water there," he says, pointing out to a stretch of water between Angel Island and Alcatraz.

"That's how you would write it?" she laughs.

"That's how I would write it," he chuckles.

"Pretty corny, don't you think?" she asks, still laughing.

"Kate Beckett, I think you and I deserve a little corny," he says, still chuckling, but meaning every world.

"Me, too, Castle," she agrees. "Me, too."

**A/N:** Happy Easter, to all who celebrate.


End file.
